Wherever the Wind Will Blow
by Stephantom
Summary: The beginning of Jack's career as a pirate...
1. The Morning Routine

**Wherever the Wind Will Blow**  
  
_The story of Jack Sparrow's early life and how he may have come to be who he is today._

**Disclaimer:** Jack Sparrow isn't mine, but you know of course I wish he was. I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean either. I'm just a fan--props to Disney and Johnny.

* * *

"_JACK!_"  
  
A bleery eye opened, then quickly shut against the harsh light streaming in through the open window. A woman with dark brown hair appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips. The boy whimpered and rolled over in his small bed, burying his face in the thin pillow. Maybe if he closed his eyes and lay very still, she wouldn't see him.  
  
"Jack Thompson, you lazy boy, you shoulda' been up an hour ago! Get yerself outta' tha' bed, or I'll personally remove you meself."  
  
The boy grumbled and raised a head of dark hair from the bed, looking about the room wearily. The woman continued, and her voice cut through his skull, the noise causing him to blink in irritation and confusion.  
  
"Did you 'ear a word I've said, boy?"  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"I said," she responded angrily, "Get yerself dressed. We've work to do. I've just received word tha' says Captain Maynard Hawk's crew just came into port 'round dawn. So tonight'll be a busy night for us, savvy? Go get the tavern ready and opened and you can handle the servin' drinks and meals fer now, Jack, and this evenin' some of the lasses'll be readied up and give you an 'and."  
  
"Aye," said Jack, swinging his legs onto the floor and running a hand through his matted black hair. "Ah, me 'ead..."  
  
"Jack..." said the woman, eyes narrowing.  
  
"Yes, mum?"  
  
"You've been into the liquor, 'aven't you? 'Aven't you, boy?!"  
  
Jack's brow furrowed worriedly and he held out his hands, fingers twitching as if to explain the words of defense that weren't quite coming to mind.  
  
"Well, you see...--" His head was snapped back with a loud crack as his mother's hand connected with his cheek.  
  
"Thas' not yours to just go abou' drinkin' as you please! That is for the customers, Jack, as you know well! You are costin' us money! Can you pay for those drinks, Jack?" This demand was met with silence. Jack continued staring forward in the direction the slap had left him facing. "I din' think so."  
  
"It wasn't me, mum. T'was Barney 'oo did it."  
  
"I didn't know the cat was an alcoholic."  
  
"'E just wanted to taste a bit, outta curiosity, thas' all. Curiosity's a healthy attribute in a boy, they say, but then they also say curiosity killed the cat, so I warned 'im, I did, but 'e wouldn' listen to me o' course - nobody does.. So I let 'im 'ave it, agains' me better judgement, and he decided he liked it. And once e'd made up 'is mind, there was no stoppin' 'im."  
  
Bethany Thompson gave her son a hard look and placed her hands on her hips. "So you're telling me a bottle of rum 'as gone missin' on account of a cat takin' a liking to it?"  
  
Jack looked at her innocently for a moment, then nodded his head eagerly. He wondered vaguely how he didn't see the slap coming as he rubbed his sore cheek tenderly.  
  
The woman threw a bundle of clothes at him angrily and stormed out of the room, her shouts continuing down the hall. "Don' know why I bother, I really don'. I give 'im birth, and let 'im live on 'ere with me twelve years, barely earnin' 'is keep, an' what does 'e do? Drinks 'alf a bottle of rum, sleeps late leavin' me runnin' after 'im to get the bar open and tells lies like nothin' else. Men are all the same..."  
  
Jack sighed and got to his feet and stretched dramatically in a feline fashion. He paused, contemplating the clothing his mother had left him, then sighed and pulled a shirt over his head. 


	2. The Family Business

The view from the behind the counter of "The Three Dead-Men" in was no different than that of any night. Men, nearly all of them pirates, sat at the tables, drinking happily. Some sat in secluded areas in two's or three's discussing secret missions or things of that sort, others gathered in large groups, talking, singing, and laughing heartily. A few would occasionally somehow insult one another and a brawl would break out, but those uninvolved continued their business obliviously, being quite accustomed to it. Jack sighed and rested his chin on his palm.  
  
"You're looking thoroughly bored, Jack," came a sweet voice from behind him. Jack turned to see a very attractive, blonde, young woman smiling from behind a great deal of makeup.  
  
"Ah, hello Cecily," he smiled back. "You look nice."  
  
"Thank you," she replied sweetly. "Got to look good tonight, what with the whole boatful of potential clients shipping in... Speaking of which, I suppose I'd best get to work, eh?" Jack smiled bashfully and nodded as she scanned the crowd of rowdy men apprehensively. "Too bad none of them look to be as a sweet a boy as you are."  
  
Jack blushed but he grinned impishly at the ideas that comment gave him. "Yes, t'is indeed a pity," he agreed, his face quickly transforming into a wistfully sympathetic countenance. "But looking on the bright side, I actually happen to be, in fact, as sweet a boy as I am."  
  
"'Fraid yer a bit young fer me, love," she laughed, patting him on the head as she headed out into the crowd. "But I daresay, you'll be a real charmer when yer older."  
  
The twelve year old grinned after her, watching her approach a table of pirates, giggling and flirting with the eager men, all of whom looked about twice her age, hairy, and dirty, sweaty, balding, fat, grimy and all of them quite drunk... "The poor girls'd probably swarm the first pretty man to walk into this place," he mumbled to himself.  
  
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a very drunk man flying on top of the counter. The man grumbled incoherently, and Jack made out the words "Jerry," "pushed," "big toe" "bastard," and "rum." This last word, at least, made perfect sense to the boy and he promptly shoved a tankard into the man's hand and helped lift him up and back on his feet.  
  
As if nothing had happened, his thoughts continued where they left off. It seemed perfectly clear to him that if a man came along that could be a pirate and still manage to be attractive, the world would be a very welcoming place indeed. That was what the world was lacking: a handsome rogue, a dashing outlaw--a pretty pirate. He giggled at the thought. _And really, this routine's gone on long enough. I mean, these old men are 'avin all the fun! Supposin' I switch thins' up a bit..? I wonder what they'd do..._ He grinned to himself and shrugged, as if deciding there was nothing to lose, and following his impulse, swaggered toward the nearest table and clambered up, standing proudly on his dirty bare feet as the attention of the room turned to him.  
  
"Hey! Hey everybody! Look at me!" He smiled at the confused faces stared up at him. "Now, as most people 'ere probably know, I'm Jack Thompson and I been working 'ere all my life. Up until this moment, I 'ave been nothing' but a bartender and busboy, but that's all about to change. I'm giving up my place at the bar for a much more affluent position and I be up 'ere now to announce to you: my grand debut... For you see, 'ere in Tortuga, children are raised knowing they're not really of any use until around the age fourteen, fifteen, or... or twelve, savvy? And seein' as I'm twelve years into my life this year, I've decided it's high time I take up the family business."  
  
He paused dramatically, letting the words sink in. A few sniggers commenced, followed by a great deal of laughter and amused applause. Jack grinned loudly and raised his hands for silence once more. "Now, don't judge too swiftly, I think it's an inspired idea, meself. I mean, there's loads of women for the men to choose from, but it seems to me, for the mos' part, the men are the ones 'avin' all the fun. And I say, where's the fairness in that, eh? Ladies?" A few women cheered, humoring him. "Thanky kindly, ladies. Ya see?" he asked the rest of the audience, gesturing persuasively. "Men can buy women, but what are the women supposed to buy? Other women? Well, I mean, some of them migh' take to that, you never know-- but as for the majority: I'm yer man, savvy?" He held out his arms welcomingly and was met with a great deal of cheering and laughing. "Come now, 'oo'll have me? Cecily?"  
  
Cecily, from her perch on a pirate's lap across the room, smiled at him and shook her head, covering her eyes with her hand in amused exasperation.  
  
"He wouldn't be able to reach her bodice!" cried one man, answered by a great roar of laughter.  
  
Jack pouted a little in reply, shouting back, "I don't appreciate comments like that, sir! You'll be makin' all me clients change their minds and be leavin' me penniless. Unless of course, that was your intent, and you mean to keep me all to yerself, in which case, I'm not one to judge another's preferences no matter 'ow strange and I suppose I can't be picky about me customers, so I'll meet you upstairs at whatever time's best for ya."  
  
The man looked turned red at that, and started to rise angrily, but a few men near him restrained him, trying not to laugh. Jack surveyed the room proudly and feeling he had just about finished amusing himself, and made to hop down off the table and trot back over to his position behind the counter, when another voice, sounding highly amused, shouted, "Someone get this kid a beer!"  
  
Jack smiled and turned to see the speaker, who smiled back and beckoned him over to his bench. Jack made his way through the crowded tables, which were returning to their former states before the interruption and examined his new friend. He was a very tall man, with deeply bronzed skin, coarse black hair, and shocking light blue eyes that shone against his dark features. His face had a stern look to it, like a bird of prey, with its high cheek bones, defined chin and slightly curved nose. Jack, suddenly feeling a bit shy and intimidated, sat down across from the man, who was smiling broadly, his bright eyes shining with mirth. Jack looked up at him, and realized from the man's attire that he must be a great pirate captain. His mother's words from early that morning came back to him and he suddenly gasped and blurted out, "You're Captain Maynard Hawk, aren't you?" 


	3. The Captain

Disclaimer - I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. And from now on, that disclaimer is a given.  
  
Thanks for the reviews!  
  
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"You're Captain Maynard Hawk!"  
  
"That I am, lad," the captain responded proudly. "And what be yer name?"  
  
"Jack, sir," he replied, taking the man's offered hand with his much smaller one. "Jack Thompson."  
  
"And you work here?"  
  
"All me life."  
  
"And how long be that? Twelve years did ye say?"  
  
"Aye," Jack nodded.  
  
"Ah," said the man, scratching his beard. "Twelve years... And yer mother? She works here too, I assume?" At Jack's nod, he continued questioning. "Thompson... She wouldn't be Miss Bethany Thompson, now would she?"  
  
"Well, yes, sir, that is her name."  
  
Maynard leaned forward, looking Jack over carefully, still stroking his whiskered chin. Sensing he was being inspected, Jack lifted his chin proudly and met the man's clear eyes with his own. Deep brown met blue, yet despite the clash in color, the two pairs of eyes held something similar, the same solemn yearning and determination, the same secret amusement and confidence, the same strange intensity that others often mistook for madness. The silent search went on for another moment, then the captain, seemingly satisfied, leaned back in his chair, his demeanor instantly switching into ease and contentedness.  
  
"Well, young Jack, that was quite a clever little performance just now. I must say, you've made me day. T'was not goin' so well up till then I've got to admit. Didn't expect anythin' unusual happenin' in this old place, but here you are. Quite the charismatic little blighter, aren't you? That's was the biggest laugh I've had in a while, so thanks for that, mate. Also didn't mind seein' ole' Granger getting' put in his place," he added with a chuckle.  
  
Jack grinned. "Glad to be of service, Captain."  
  
"Here's that beer ye was askin' for, Captain," said a young man approaching the table, in a clear, pleasant voice.  
  
"Ah, thanks, Bill," said Maynard, taking the tankard and sliding it over to Jack. Seeing Jack reach into his pockets, he quickly added, "Don't worry. It's on me, mate. Why don't you have a seat Bill?"  
  
The young man nodded and sat down beside Jack.  
  
"Jack, this be William Turner, one me crew. Bill, this here's Jack Thompson, my new small friend."  
  
Swallowing his protest at such a condescending title, Jack shook hands with the pirate beside him. He didn't look all that much older than Jack himself, ten years at most. Looking at him, Jack was disappointed to find that his brilliant idea of the "pretty pirate" had already been carried out by someone else. Bill Turner was a strong but lean, clean-shaven lad in his late teens with curly, black hair emerging from under a bandana to frame an honest face and warm, chocolate-brown eyes.  
  
Bill raised an amused eyebrow at meeting this strange youngster, which confused Jack for a moment. He had nearly forgotten that only a moment ago he had been standing upon a table, addressing the entire room with a ridiculous speech declaring his entrance into prostitution. He laughed a little at his own boldness and shrugged. Bill shook his head and smiled, taking a swig at his glass. Jack and Captain Maynard followed suit and the three felt quite content and comfortable.  
  
"You said yer day hadn't been goin' too well before, sir. Why was that?" asked Jack, turning his attention back to the older man.  
  
"Ah, well," Maynard sighed and looked at Bill. "Things didn't quite work out as planned on our last voyage, and it's always a disappointment coming home unsuccessful."  
  
Jack looked questioningly at him, but he did not embellish. Bill however, seeing Jack's unvoiced questions, spoke up eagerly. "Well, we was plannin' on headin' to the Isle de Muerta, and there's a lot of legend surrounding that island, said to be absolutely flooded with treasure. But you see, no one knows where exactly it is, and it's said no one can find it unless they've been there before. Obviously that makes the whole thing quite difficult, perhaps impossible. But Hawk here found this man, a pirate called Jonesy, 'oo said that he's been there and stood upon the island himself. Of course, he's rather old and I suppose he must be out of his mind, because he had no idea where he was going. We ended up goin' in circles for months until the men started getting' real anxious and the captain here decided we'd better head back before things got too ugly. And now more'n half the crew's not gonna' be boardin' with us when we depart again, due to the way things worked out this last time."  
  
Bill, finished with his enthusiastic narrative, turned back to his drink, but stopped with the glass halfway to his lips, noticing that his captain was staring at him. The older man's face was expressionless, but the meaning behind it was clear. He blinked and continued looking at his young mate in a sort of patient frustration, wordlessly informing Bill what an idiot he was, blurting out the entire story to a stranger for no reason. Shrewdness was apparently not the younger pirate's strong point. He at least had the decency to look a little ashamed as he realized what he had done.  
  
Jack watched the exchange with interest and amusement. "Don't worry, mate," he said with a half-smile. "It's not as if I'm really a big threat."  
  
"With that mouth of yours?" asked the captain with raised eyebrows. "Of course you are." But he smirked as he said it and Jack felt he somehow had the older man's trust. "It wasn't a real blunder anyway. Ye gave nothing of great importance away there, Bill, it's alright. But it's the principle of the thing. Just a bad habit we've got to break, eh?"  
  
Bill smiled despite himself, still looking a little abashed and hid his face in his drink again. Deciding it would be best to change the subject, Jack took another sip of his beer and looked at his two new friends. "What's it like? Being a pirate..?"  
  
"That's rather a broad topic, mate. What do you want to know?"  
  
Jack shrugged. "Everythin'. Anythin'. Tell me what it's like to not be stuck here."  
  
Bill gladly complied and began to tell him dozens of stories, about his becoming a pirate, about sailing a ship and why some ships were better than others, about battles with clashing bands of pirates, or redcoats trying to have them arrested, and adventures for treasure, and night-raids in villages, and staying up drinking and singing and many other things. Maynard gladly joined in on the telling of many of these stories and told a few of his own as well. Jack listened to them, jealous and awed of the excitement, danger, glory and freedom of their lives.  
  
The three got along very well and Jack was disappointed when finally it was time for the tavern to close, and his new friends to return to their ship for the night. He wiped down the tables and stacked the chairs absentmindedly, eventually getting up to his room and climbing into bed with an odd mixture of sadness and delight. Hearing them talk, he felt an aching sense of longing, a need to get out somehow, to be able to go wherever he wanted and do whatever he pleased, to live on whims rather than routine, to see the world... Yet a strong, irrepressible hope rose in him, telling him he would leave someday, and become a great, renowned and feared pirate, and his mind was filled with wonderful dreams of the future.  
  
The marvelous camaraderie he had enjoyed with the two men that evening served to make him feel a little more lonely than before now that they were gone and he realized everyone else around him in his daily life merely tolerated him. Sitting at that table, drinking, laughing, listening to stories, Jack felt accepted and comfortable; he felt at home. That was the life for him, that was where he belonged. Not a troublesome burden to his mother and the other women of the tavern, not a conscientious bartender and innkeeper - but a pirate, a leaf fluttering in the air wherever the wind would take it. 


	4. The Consequences

Jack scanned the bar-room hopefully for the two pirates from the night before, but they were nowhere to be seen. However, it was still early and there was still a chance they might come back tonight. They couldn't have gone back out to sea yet, could they? No, of course not. Most seamen spent at least a few days on land before heading off again. No one could land after a journey of many months and leave immediately after one day's break. Besides, hadn't Bill said that half their crew had quit, and Hawk would need time to find men to fill their place? Yes, he felt sure he would see them again tonight.  
  
"Jack! There you are!" came the angry voice of his mother.  
  
"Here I am," he answered. "Where else would I be?"  
  
"Yer right. Of course yer 'ere, working as usual. What a good boy you are," she said sweetly.  
  
"Thank you," he smiled.  
  
Miss Thompson rolled her eyes and gave him a good cuff on the back his head.  
  
"Hey! What was that for?" asked Jack, brushing his hair out of his face, the sweet smile gone.  
  
"Where were you last night?"  
  
Jack frowned and considered his answer carefully. She hadn't been at the tavern last night; she couldn't know if he had been doing his job or not. Why was she asking then? Was she merely assuming he had been up to something wrong and planned to catch him with her bluff? Or did she really know?  
  
"Where were _you_ last night?" he countered, raising an eyebrow slyly and folding his arms across his chest.  
  
"I was working!" his mother shrieked in exasperation. "Unlike some!"  
  
"Hmm," said Jack vaguely. "I know. It is really quite infuriating 'ow lazy some can be while good people like us actually 'ave to work for a living."  
  
Miss Thompson looked as if she was about to scream for a second, and raised a hand threateningly. Jack flinched, then, when no slap was felt, stood watching the hovering hand with narrowed eyes. His mother breathed deeply and lowered her arm. Jack looked at her questioningly. She sighed and shook her head.  
  
"I know what happened last night. Cecily told me all about it. She seemed to think it highly amusing." The corner's of Jack's mouth curled upwards of their own accord as his mother continued to glare at him. He lowered his head and stared at the ground, putting all his effort into not laughing. It didn't work.  
  
"It's not funny, Jack! What if someone 'ad actually taken you up on yer offer, eh? I don' think you'd be laughin' then!"  
  
"Well, it'd depend 'oo it was.." he mumbled, but he stopped laughing. She continued staring at him seriously, her brow furrowing and he sobered under her gaze, his face wearing an expression reminiscent of her own.  
  
"There are an awful lot of shifty scoundrels 'round 'ere, Jack."  
  
"Well, yeah, but no one," he laughed. "No one would do somethin' like that!"  
  
A glare was his response. "You never know."  
  
"Well they sure as 'ell wouldn' with all their mates about."  
  
"Yer not gonna' always be able to count on things like that, Jack," she answered firmly. "Yer gonna' get yerself into heaps of trouble eventually, you know that? You can't jus' go through yer 'ole life in this manner, doin' whatever pleases you at that momen', not givin' any consideration to consequences. Luck will only take you so far, Jack! An' people 'oo take care of ya and give ya everythin' ya need don' take kindly to yer deciding' you'd rather not work one night, and instead, puttin' on a clever little show mockin' the very business yer livin offa' and spending the rest o' the night drinkin' like a fish and leavin' all we got open to 'ooever pleases to come and take some -"  
  
"Tom was there too, mum!"  
  
"Don' interrupt me!" she yelled, and Jack sighed in resignation. She looked like she was going to say more, but seeing Jack's bored look, she exclaimed, "Why am I wastin' my breath on your deaf ears, you damn fool boy!" She sighed and ran a hand through her dark hair. "Not words, not beatings, nothin' gets through. Well, since you can't be trusted to work with liquor it seems, you'll be doing dishes in the kitchen tonight."  
  
Jack's eyes widened. "What?! No, no, I'm no good with dishes, I'll break 'em all," he argued, waving his arms wildly, as if in demonstration. "Please? Please, I'll do it all week next week, I swear."  
  
Miss Thompson watched his reaction, eyes narrowing. "Why are you so eager to be out here tonight? What's happenin' tonight thas' so special?"  
  
"Nothin', but..." He broke off, his dark eyes continuing to plead with her desperately. If he spent the whole evening washing dishes, his friends could very well come back again and leave, and he'd never see them. He wasn't sure why that thought was so crushing to him, it seemed irrational, but he somehow felt drawn to them, especially the captain. He had even thought maybe... just maybe... as they were looking for more crewmembers... But now he'd never even have a chance.  
  
"Don't you give me those puppy eyes, Jack Thompson," she answered firmly and pointed a finger toward the door, the other hand on her hip. "To the kitchen."  
  
Jack's gaze fell to the floor and his shoulders sagged. He shuffled through the back door into the kitchens with none of his usual flamboyant grace. His mother dismissed it as an act, for he was always trying to con her somehow, and having raised him from an infant, she knew his tricks inside and out. However, she could not help but feel a small twinge of guilt as he quit the bar-room, his whole body seeming to radiate sadness and disappointment. She wondered what on earth he could be so anxious to see there tonight. 


	5. The Question

Captain Maynard Hawk swaggered into the Three Dead Men, followed by his first mate, a burly man with a patch covering one eye. Maynard didn't know how he had lost that eye, but there was no point in asking. It didn't really matter; other pirates on his ship had stranger scars.  
  
"See about some of them fellows over there, Binks," he said, indicating a table of men nearby. "I'll get us some drinks."  
  
Binks nodded and headed over toward the group with a smile, slapping the back of one whom he was apparently acquainted with. Maynard noted in the back of his mind that that was lucky. The man would most likely join up with his friend's crew, and his other friends would probably follow his lead and accept the job offer, and he'd have a crew in no time.  
  
Maynard sidled up to the counter and smacked his hand down on the surface with a shout of, "Give us some rum!"  
  
Almost immediately, a bottle appeared before him. He looked up at the man who had given it to him. He was a lanky man with scraggly black hair. He narrowed his eyes at him. "Yer not Jack."  
  
"No sir," the man replied. "I'm Tom Cardigy. Jack's me... ah... assistant."  
  
"I see. Well, where is the lad? Got the night off?"  
  
"An' jus' what do you want with him, Mister Pirate?" said a woman, shoving Tom out of the way, hands on her hips. She was very a very attractive woman, in her thirties, Maynard guessed, with dark eyes and dark hair pinned up loosely, a few strands falling out into her face.  
  
"That's Captain Pirate to you, Miss," he smirked, taking a sip of his rum, then stopping when he got a good look at her. He squinted at her. "Beth?"  
  
"Aye, Bethany Thompson." She narrowed her eyes. "And you be Captain Hawk, eh?"  
  
"Why do ye say it like a question? Ye know me! Sure, it's been a few years, but.." his voice trailed off and his eyes met hers. "I certainly 'avn't forgotten--"  
  
"What do you want with my son?" she asked abruptly, cutting him off.  
  
"Ah, right. Back to Jack. Clever little lad, inne?"  
  
"Hmm, not the word I'd use," she mumbled dryly. He raised an amused eyebrow and she elaborated. "I'd probly say somethin' more along the lines of bloody troublesome, provoking, impetuous, crude, dishonest, mischievous, disobedient, lazy, ungrateful..."  
  
"Alright, I get it," he said, cutting her off with a laugh. "Alrigh' so he's a piece o' work. Still, ye've got to add "cunning" and "charming" to that list, Beth, you must admit."  
  
"And jus' 'ow do you know so much about my son, Captain?"  
  
"Well, came here for a drink last night, and the lad got up an-"  
  
"Oh, Mother of God," she cut in irritably. "I don' wanna' 'ear anymore about' that particular incident, if you please. I've talked to 'im already 'bout it."  
  
"Actually," said Maynard with a lopsided grin, "I thought it rather amusing meself."  
  
Bethany threw him a searing glare, which caused him to cough and attempt looking serious.  
  
"You know, Mayne, I never took you for the type, honestly, but if thas 'ow it is with you, I am sorry to inform you that Jack will be staying behind this 'ere counter till 'es about _thirty-five_, savvy?"  
  
The pirate's eyebrows flew upward under his hat, then quickly furrowed low on his forehead. "That seems a wee bit harsh," he murmured. "Hang on." He cocked his head to the side and held up his forefinger. "Did you just imply what I think you did?"  
  
Bethany shrugged her shoulders and smirked. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got better things to do than stand 'ere talkin' to a dirty pirate," she said, turning away.  
  
"Pirate _captain_, Beth, love!" he insisted, following her and clambering onto the other side of the counter. "And you really shouldn't be talking," he muttered.  
  
Her mouth opened in appalled indignation and she glared at him poisonously. "Don't call me that," she muttered, grabbing a rag and wiping off a large spill on the counter.  
  
He sighed and watched her wearily. A long moment passed in silence, until she couldn't help but meet his patient gaze. "What do you bloody want?"  
  
"I want the boy," he said seriously. "I want to take him on my ship."  
  
"E's too young!" she cried. "What good would 'e be to you?"  
  
"He'll be a damn good pirate someday."  
  
"Well, some day's not now."  
  
"Why shouldn't it be?" he asked.  
  
"He's only a child, Mayne," she insisted slowly.  
  
"He's a young man. Twelve's a regular age for cabin boys," he argued. "And before long he'll be old enough to really be helpful. He's got a lot of potential. Smarter than some men I've known five times his age."  
  
"'Ow can you know that? You've jus' met 'im."  
  
"I can tell," he said. "I've only known him one night, but I feel I know him. It's like..." He paused and looked at her very seriously, his crystal eyes boring into hers. "Tell me, Beth... He's mine, isn't he?"  
  
A long pause followed as Beth stared into those blue eyes, unable to speak. Those twinkling eyes that would glint mischievously, which had once filled her with such joy... Those searing, intense eyes that made her feel powerless.. Those cold eyes of steel that left her feeling passed over, unimportant, empty... She had been such a silly girl back then. She knew better now. Do not get involved or attached to customers; he had taught her that rule. She looked away and sighed.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
He looked at her imploringly.  
  
"I don't know!" she repeated. She paused and looked at him, asking, almost wearily, "Would you still take 'im if I said no?"  
  
He pursed his lips doubtfully, but nodded. "'E'll still make a great man someday, be he mine or no. But... I would like to know."  
  
She nodded sadly. "Well... 'E might be. I don' know for sure, you know. But.." she sighed. "It's likely. More likely than anyone else."  
  
He nodded curtly and looked away, staring blindly at the ground. That boy was his son, he knew it, he could feel it. He had to be. He was a father! A father all these years and he didn't know it. And a father of such a boy. He felt pride swelling up in him. He could teach this boy everything he knew, take him under his wing. Hawk and son out on the high seas, together they'd be unstoppable. He smiled and shook himself out of his daydreams. Bethany was watching him carefully, a hint of sadness in her face.  
  
"I knew you'd come and take him away someday," she said, her eyes becoming moist. "I jus' didn't know it'd be so soon."  
  
"You've had twelve years with him," he said softly, looking at her with some compassion.  
  
"Twelve years. I'm not sure whether that seems an eternity or a day," she managed, the tears coming in earnest now. She seemed younger, somehow, as she cried, and helpless. "Oh, the grey hair's e's given me... But it'll be so quiet when 'e's gone... I'll miss 'im so much... An' I've been so beastly to 'im..."  
  
"Shh, it's alright, love," Maynard whispered, taking her into his arms. For a moment, she gave in and cried into his shirt, but then she pulled back resolutely and stood upright, wiping her eyes. He watched her awkwardly, not knowing quite what to do. She seemed to have composed herself however, so he folded his arms and asked hesitantly, "May I see him?" 


	6. The Answer

I'm back! Sorry about the serious lack of updates... I haven't abandoned this fic! I just... haven't been working diligently on it. This chapter was harder to write than the others, as the tone is more serious, but there will be more Jack-silliness soon, I believe, so don't give up on me.. Heh. Anyway, for what it's worth... Chapter Six: (Oh, and Jack still isn't mine.) _____________________________________________________________  
  
Jack and the pile of unwashed dishes were having a staring contest. Jack was fairly certain he was winning, as the dishes were not quite fortunate enough to possess eyes. The baggy, off-white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows but he had not yet plunged his arms into the soapy water.  
  
Abruptly, a woman placed a few more plates and mugs into the basin with a clatter and Jack blinked as the water splashed him slightly. "You'd better start working on that," said the woman, walking off with a shake of her head. "That pile's only going to get bigger."  
  
Jack raised a mournful eyebrow and his shoulders drooped. Perhaps the dishes were winning after all. He glared at them threateningly, shaking his head slowly.  
  
Bethany Thompson leaned the back of her head against the wall, eyes closed, arms folded against her chest. She had opened the door to the kitchen and shouted for Jack and now she stood, the pirate shifting uncomfortably at her side, as they waited for their son to emerge.  
  
They didn't wait long. The door opened and the boy stepped out, attempting to scratch his forehead with the back of his wrist, his hands and forearms covered in soap suds. Some suds had somehow found their way into his nearly- chin-length hair and onto his neck. Beth smiled despite herself at the sight, then swallowed painfully, afraid that she might cry again.  
  
"Cap'n!" Jack cried gleefully, his dark eyes lighting up at the sight of the older man. Hawk grinned back at him, revealing a few golden teeth. "What are you doing 'ere?" Jack noticed his mother hovering near them and glanced back and forth between the two with narrowed eyes. "What's going on? Why was my mum talking to you?"  
  
The captain coughed awkwardly and sent Beth a questioning glance. Her eyes did not meet his however. She licked her lips, hesitating, equally unsure of how to begin. Jack turned to her, eyebrows raised in helpless confusion. "Mum?"  
  
She sighed and placed both hands on Jack's shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Jack... This man came 'ere to talk to me today 'bout something very important... Ya see.. Hawk 'ere, as I understand it, is rather in need of... of some 'ands on 'is ship... an' 'e thinks 'e could do with a cabin boy... and that you might do an 'alf-decent job. Ain't that right, Mr. Hawk?"  
  
Maynard blinked. She wasn't going to tell him? "Aye," he said, recovering. "Aye, that's right. What say you, Jack? Ready to try out yer sea legs?"  
  
A great grin split across the boy's face. It was more than he could have ever dreamed! – well, perhaps not; he could dream an awful lot. Still, it seemed the best thing that had ever happened to him. To sail away from this place and this life, to have the whole ocean as his home, to be off for adventure with a crew of pirates... Suddenly he remembered his mother was still standing there and his eyes flickered to hers uncertainly. Would she even let him go? She never let him do anything; she always wanted him to work. His eyes fell to the floor.  
  
Bethany watched her son's reaction to the proposition sadly and not without some bitterness. She knew by his expression of elation that she had lost him. He was just like his father; he would never remain anywhere. The wanderlust was in his blood. He could never truly be her son; he was pirate, and that would come first. That was what it came down to. He would go, and the next time she saw him, she probably wouldn't recognize him.  
  
She was surprised when he paused and looked to her as if asking for permission. She watched his gaze drop despondently and sighed. "Oh, stop that pouting, boy. It's not as if I can really tell you 'no'. It's what you'll do regardless, at some point anyway."  
  
Jack raised his head, his face lighting up again at these words. Feeling that saying "thank you" would be inadequate for expressing his feelings, he sprung forward, wrapping his arms around her. "I'll come back, Mum, I promise."  
  
She didn't return the hug, her arms pinned at her sides by his overzealous embrace. "Get goin' now," she said sternly, fighting back the tears. "I'll manage perfectly fine on my own—not as if ya did much of anythin' 'round 'ere anyway... Jack, yer soppin' wet, Jack!"  
  
Jack pulled away, smiling at her a little, then turned to Maynard, who had turned away and taken to observing the few people seated in "The Three Dead Men" that day, feeling somewhat intrusive.  
  
"Ready, mate?" he asked when Jack approached him. Jack nodded resolutely and the two walked out from behind the counter of the bar together.  
  
"Take care of yerself, ya hear!" called his mother suddenly and Jack gave her a lop-sided grin in response, then turned and walked away.  
  
Bethany hugged herself tightly as she watched him go. After a moment, she lifted her hands to her face for observation. They were covered in soap suds. 


	7. The Seabird

The door to the small room that served as Jack's quarters flew open and its resident came rushing in. The room was located in the eastern corner of the building and the ceiling slanted downward, giving the room the feel of a quaint nook. There was a small window with dilapidated shutters overlooking the dirty streets of Tortuga, and beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.  
  
Jack turned around eagerly to face his new captain, continuing to walk backward as he did so. "Welcome to my humble home, Cap'n. Now, I'll jus' be needin' a minute to get my things," he stopped abruptly as he tripped over an unidentified, fluffy object which emitted a harsh hissing noise and raced away, darting around the boots of the captain and fleeing out the crack left open by the door. Jack glared after it with a scowl from where he sat awkwardly on the floor and shook his head.  
  
"Damn cat's drunk," he mumbled as he pushed himself up.  
  
Hawk blinked and raised an eyebrow, not quite sure if he had heard correctly, but was granted no further explanation. He shook his head, half wondering what he was getting himself into. The boy was opening drawers, grabbing articles of clothing seemingly at random and tossing them into the air behind him carelessly. After a few seconds of this, he paused and looked over the resulting disorderly and rather small pile that had formed on his bed with satisfaction, shoving them together into a more compact collection. He then walked over to the window to grab a few more things. He was momentarily distracted and stopped to gaze out at the familiar view one last time. It hadn't quite sunk in yet that he was really leaving--that all of this was really happening.  
  
"Wha'd'ye got there?" Hawk asked as Jack returned to the pile on his bed. He held up a pocket-knife in one hand, and an oddly shaped piece of wood in the other. Hawk furrowed his brow, taking it in his hand to hold up for closer inspection. There was a long moment of silence as he stared at it.  
  
"What exactly is this?" he finally asked.  
  
"That," said Jack proudly, "Is art."  
  
Hawk glanced up with wide eyes, and then looked again at the befuddling creation. It seemed to have been a somewhat thick stick that had been carved and sculpted into an abstract shape with random bumps and niches; it was not even completely stripped of its bark and a couple of twigs stuck out on its sides.  
  
A corner of Hawk's mouth curled upward. "Jack," he said slowly. "Would ye like me to teach ye how to whittle?"  
  
Jack's jaw dropped as if utterly shocked at this proposal and he folded his arms proudly. "Teach me?! Let me assure you, sir, I'm in no need of teachin'. Perhaps you simply are incapable of appreciating true masterpieces as you've never been fortunate enough to encounter one before, savvy?" He seemed to suddenly remember who he was talking to, his expression of mock indignation cracking a bit as his eyes gleamed and he fought an embarrassed smile. "Captain?" he ammended.  
  
Hawk sent a warning glance down at his new cabin boy, though it was softened by a wry smile of amusement. "Perhaps," he allowed. He frowned thoughtfully and glanced at the ground, then back at his son, deciding to humor him. "What I meant was, ah... how would ye like to learn another man's... approach... simply to broaden yer horizons?"  
  
Jack glanced at the ceiling, letting his fingers rest on his lips in thought for a moment. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose," he finally acceded. Hawk grinned and slapped his back.  
  
"How magnanimous of you," he said with a laugh.  
  
Jack placed the knife and the work of art on top of the pile of clothes. He then took the corners of the blanket covering his bed and brought them together over the pile, tying them into a crude knot.  
  
"Ah, see, there's a thing I can help ye with," said the captain, sitting down on the bed. "Let me show ye how to tie a proper sailor's knot."  
  
Jack watched the motions of his hands with eager, focused eyes, quickly memorizing the technique. Hawk untied it and nodded, indicating that Jack should try it. He observed his son repeat the procedure, his small, agile fingers going through the steps rapidly, soundly securing the knap-sack. He swelled with pride at his success. The boy would do well. It had been the right decision.  
  
He tugged at the bundled blanket a bit. "Seems alright. Let's be off, then." 

* * *

The sun was glaring brightly on the waves as they gently nudged the boats scattered among the docks. Hawk indicated his ship, and Jack tilted his head back, squinting at its tall form in awe.   
  
"Think she'll do?" he asked with a smile. Jack returned the smile dazedly, not breaking his gaze on what would now be his home. "The Seabird. She's a handsome brigantine, she is. Not very big, but she handles beautifully—you'll see. Well," he said, gripping Jack's shoulder briefly, "I wager you'll be fine from here. I've got to get back to the Inn, talk to my first mate about some business, see about gettin' me a crew; maybe head over to The Faithful Bride. See ya' in a bit."  
  
Jack turned his head suddenly as his captain left his side, then looked back up at the Seabird. He pursed his lips slightly, contemplating it, and slowly approached it, his light make-shift sack slung over his shoulder carelessly. His bare feet slapped loudly against the wooden planks of the gangway as he made his ascent. Once aboard, he grinned, reveling in the realization of his dream, and sauntered over to the side rail of the boat, climbing up onto it and leaning over, as if to share his delight with any sea creatures that might chance to look up and see his beaming face. A slight breeze ruffled his unruly hair and he closed his eyes in contentment.  
  
_Freedom._  
  
"Oy!" came a sudden shout from behind him. "You there! What are you doing 'ere?"  
  
Jack whirled around only to find a man's face far to close to his own for comfort scowling at him. Before he could say a thing, strong hands took hold of his shirt and lifted him off his feet, tilting him back over the rail slightly. He let out a little yelp and threw a dismayed glance over his shoulder at the ocean, which didn't look nearly as inviting any more.  
  
"We ain't fond of stowaways, boy!" the man spat at him, giving him a hard shake. Jack grasped at the man's arms, trying to hold himself up and regain his footing, but in vain.  
  
"I'm no more a stowaway," said Jack, breathing in gasps, "than you a pretty young girl in pink!" The man blinked in confusion at the unexpected analogy and frowned as the boy continued. "...dancing gaily in a field of flowers, in the spring sunshine, with her puppy..." The man's eyes narrowed in irritation as he prattled on senselessly. "...who is little, and white, and fluffy and—"  
  
"—Alright, shut up already," snarled the pirate.  
  
"...named Princess."  
  
The man growled at him and Jack offered an appealing smile, eyes shining in a fashion similar, no doubt, to those of Princess. The pirate raised an eyebrow an shook his head. Perhaps he was just a harmless idiot who had stumbled onto the ship somehow. He grumbled and lowered Jack to the deck. "You are one strange kid."  
  
Jack grinned. "But I'm no stowaway."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "What are you doing on this ship, then?"  
  
"I, sir, am the new cabin boy, thank you very much, and I'm honored to make the acquaintance of a fellow member of this fine ship's crew," said Jack, holding out his hand.  
  
The man eyed it skeptically for a moment. "The Cap'n showed you aboard?" he asked.  
  
"Aye," said Jack.  
  
"Hmm," replied the pirate, looking doubtful. "I don' know what we'd do with a cabin boy... Most likely just get in the way. Not much need for one on this ship, and not like none of us care if the place is a mess or not..."  
  
Jack gave no response to that, but simply remained holding his hand out expectantly, looking at the man with an innocent smile. The pirate finally sighed and accepted the boy's hand.  
  
"Jack Thompson," he said triumphantly. "And just between you and me," he whispered, leaning in close, conspiratorily, "You really ought to work on how you welcome mates."  
  
The man snorted, eyeing the kid expressionlessly. "O'Malley," he mumbled in return. He grabbed a hold of Jack's shoulder and roughly walked him over stairs leading below deck.  
  
"Oy, Turner!" he shouted.  
  
"What?" came a muffled cry after a moment.  
  
"I'm sending you a present. Just keep an eye on it until the captain gets back." 


	8. The Letter

**Author's Note:** Alright, I hope I will be updating pretty often from this point on. I've got a good deal of the story planned out, which is good because to be honest, I had a pretty vague idea of things for a while. Jack may be very silly and entertaining thus far (and he will continue to be so (I hope), after all, he's still Jack Sparrow (well not Sparrow quite yet, but that's beside the point)) but the story is going to get a lot more serious as it goes on and time will be passing.  
  
And if you read it and like it--please try to review it. It would really help motiviate me. And if you don't like it, I am open to constructive criticism. By the way, know what I love? How fanfiction.net is now letting me edit documents as I load them. It is so exciting. I can use italics and everything, and and indentation. How do you guys feel about the indents? Does it sorta break it up better? Easier to look at? No opinion? Alright, anyway. I should get to sleep. Two more weeks... two more weeks... Hope you like the chapter. Lots of Bill in this one.  


* * *

  
  


_Dearest William_, it read. He smiled slightly, hearing her voice in his head.

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. Thoughts of what might happen to you out there plague my thoughts every night as I try to fall asleep. Visions of you drowned, robbed, killed, hanged... Perhaps I'm just being foolish. Yet there's nothing I can do to stop worrying about you. I don't know what I would do if anything were to happen to you. But nay, I am sure you are quite well and that you don't wish to hear me fretting over you. Therefore, I shall say no more of that. Have you found gold and adventure out there on the high seas? You must tell me everything. After these past six months, you must be full of wonderful and exciting stories._

_ Life at home has been rather dull, I'm afraid. And ...quite difficult, as well, to be perfectly honest. I am in perfect health and under careful supervision, worry not. Unfortunately however, Father's health has gotten worse and I am beginning to worry if he will be with us much longer... He kept asking where you were for months. I've told my family that you have become a merchant. He never questions anything these days, however. He's far too frail and weak and tired to care about much of anything. He's so far removed from what he once was; I can hardly bear the sight of him. Mother has been under such strain, caring for him and worrying about supporting my sister. She says she must find her a husband one of these days. Poor Tessa, she is not yet fifteen and Mother is trying to find her a suitor! Tessa, of course, sends you her love. She misses you very much. As do I... _

_ Oh William, you cannot know how much! We barely had any time to simply be together, to be married and young and happy, and it's been so long now since I've seen you. I'm thinking of you all the time. If I could only see you for a moment, just hear your voice again, and feel your arms around me... But I know you will visit when you can and that you are trying to earn money for us. I know I cannot keep you to myself, for the sea claimed your heart long before you ever saw me, but I wish to God I could, and that's the truth of it. _

_ I wish you good fortune in all your doings. God keep you and bring you home soon._

_ Your loving wife,_

_ Fiona_

__  
  
The young man sighed quietly and tilted his head back, resting it on the pole behind him wearily. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened as he slowly folded the letter and tucked it into his vest.  
  
"Oh, Fi," he breathed sadly.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by someone bellowing his name.  
  
"What?" he called back tiredly.  
  
"I'm sendin' you a present! Just keep an eye on it until the cap'n gets back!"  
  
An eyebrow shot up at this strange explanation and Bill rose to his feet cautiously, wondering what on earth he was supposed to keep an eye on. Soft footsteps descended the steep steps, and soon the scrawny form of boy was visible. The boy paused before the last two steps and jumped onto the ground, his bare feet giving a satisfying smack on the wood floor. He whirled around quickly, then stopped quite suddenly and leaned his head back to peer at the other person in the room. Bill's eyebrow went up a bit further.  
  
"Bill Turner, weren't it?" the boy finally asked.  
  
Bill nodded. "Aye. Jack?"  
  
"The one and only," said Jack with a flourish.  
  
Bill gave a small smile and shook his head. "What the devil are you doin' here?"  
  
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm comin' along for the ride, mate! And for the pilfering and plundering and such," he said, sliding casually into a nearby chair.  
  
"You talked to the cap'n then?" asked Bill, joining him.  
  
"Aye," said Jack. "Actually, t'was 'im that asked me, not the other way around. Thought I'd be a good cabin boy, 'e said. Course," and here the boy leaned close to Bill, as if sharing a great secret. "I'm gonna' be much more than that, mate, mark my words. You remember this day, talkin' to me, and ye can tell tell yer little grandchildren how you knew me before I was a legend."  
  
Bill rolled his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind," he said dryly, but the corners of his lips quirked in amusement. He watched the boy's fingers tap the surface of the table in a quick, uneven rhythm. Jack's eyes were flitting about the room as if following a sporadic fly, when suddenly they stopped and fixed upon Bill's face. They dropped lower to his vest, where the edge of the letter was visible. His arm darted forward and snatched the letter so deftly that Bill merely blinked in surprise.  
  
"Hey," he cried belatedly, leaning forward in an attempt to grab it back. Jack rose quickly and turned away, shielding the paper with his back. Bill followed him, and tried once more to reclaim his letter, but after failing again, he huffed in irritation and stood back, folding his arms. "Jack," he said slowly, trying to be patient. "Give me back my letter."  
  
"Well, let's just have a little looksie, eh? We're mates, right? Your business is my business and all that?" Bill glared and Jack grinned cheekily and unfolded the paper. "Now, what's this? A love letter, mm? Got a bonnie lass pinin' after you somewhere, Billy?"  
  
"Jack!" cried Bill in disgrace and anger.  
  
"I'm just playin' with ye, mate," said Jack with an easy smile, tossing the letter in Bill's direction. "I can't read."  
  
Bill's face cleared and he smiled a little, despite himself. "Oh," he said. He stooped and picked up the letter with as much dignity as he could muster. "Well, you still shouldn't just go takin' people's private things like that," he said, using the letter to point at him for emphasis.  
  
Jack raised his eyebrows. "'Shouldn't take people's things?'" he asked in disbelief. "What kinda' pirate are you?"  
  
Bill glanced upward momentarily, then clarified. "At least not from another pirate. Especially from your own crew. It's not right with the code."  
  
Jack considered this wisdom, eyes cast downward and brows furrowed. His lips pursed and he nodded slowly, looking deep in thought. He looked up and met Bill's eyes.  
  
"So it was a lass then, wasn't it?"  
  
Bill clapped his hand against his head and dragged it over his face.  
  
"Aye, Jack," he admitted with a chuckle. "You win."  
  
Jack grinned. "What's her name?"  
  
Bill sighed in defeat. "Fiona."  
  
"What's she like, then, your Fiona?" he asked. It seemed to Bill that he sounded like he cared, which surprised him. He sat down again and Jack followed, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands, eagerly awaiting information.  
  
"Beautiful," Bill finally answered dreamily.  
  
"I knew it!" Jack interjected triumphantly. Bill eyed him strangely and the boy quieted again, returning his chin to his hand contritely, as if waiting for Bill to continue.  
  
"And she's..." Bill trailed off, deep in thought. "She's the kindest soul I've ever met. She was willing to look past my being a pirate an' see me for who I am, even though her family would disown her if they knew what I really do out here. Her father gave her a hard time as it was... Bloody bastard, he is. But you'd never guess, the way she talks about 'im. She worries about everyone... always wants to help everyone... And her smile..." Bill smiled, thinking of her smile.  
  
Jack, who had seemed so curious, finally seemed to have grown bored of this thread of conversation and was staring into the table blankly, sitting very still. Bill finally remembered him and coughed, looking slightly embarrassed.  
  
"Yes, well... We married a year ago."  
  
That woke Jack up. "Married?!"  
  
"Aye," said Bill simply. His corners of his mouth twitched as he watched the shocked and bewildered expression on the younger boy's face as he struggled to speak.  
  
"What the hell did you do that for?!" he finally got out, eyes wide. Bill looked slightly insulted and Jack said more gently, "Not that she's not a fine girl, I'm sure. It's just..." He trailed off. "...must be hard, is all."  
  
Bill's face grew sad. "Aye," he said softly. Jack looked at him awkwardly. His new friend seemed to have become quite distressed and Jack searched for a new subject.  
  
"Where'd ya learn to read?" he asked suddenly.  
  
Bill glanced up at the sudden change in subject. "My father taught me."  
  
"Ah." Jack felt an uncomfortable feeling of envy rise in him and he chewed his lip uneasily. He didn't know how to read or write. He'd never had a father to teach him. He didn't even know who his father was...  
  
"Would ye like to learn, Jack?" asked Bill, as if he could hear his thoughts.  
  
Jack stared at him without answering for a moment. Bill's eyes were sincere and shining. Jack nodded. Bill smiled. "Alright. I'll teach ye then, so long as you promise not to use yer knowledge to read any of my things, eh?"  
  
"Deal," said Jack, holding out his small hand. Bill grinned and clasped his hand firmly. Both young men paused and glanced at the ceiling as the sound of footsteps on deck met their ears. The glanced back at each other and simultaneously rose from their seats to climb back up onto the main deck. 


	9. The Crew

**Author rambles:** Alright, so I lied. Updates did not come quickly. There were a few reasons for this.. Firstly... finals. Those are over now though, thank God. And ah, I've got some plot ideas but right now its at a weird transition thing... or something... I don't know, whatever. And also, I don't know anything about boats. I don't know what people do on boats... So just don't pay attention to those things, ok? Suspend belief... I am trying to do research however, but really, just bear with me. Anyway. Hopefully from now on things will be going faster (and let's hope I'm not lying this time). And after all that, this is a pretty short, boring chapter. Sigh. I'm sorry.

And thank you so much for the reviews!

**Update: **Ok, changed a few things. Babelfish, those are some really good points... especially about that comment of Jack's. I think that 12-year-olds tend to be much less innocent than they are given credit for and even more so for Jack, given both his personality and the environment he was raised in. But you're right, when I think about it now, I don't think he would say that. I was just having him ramble to purposely annoy the cook but the rambling got a bit personal there... And Bastian, heh I hadn't thought of the Neverending Story boy... It was just a name my friend liked - some of the crewmembers are inspired by people I know... Also! I am moving Fiona's home from Bermuda to England... gave long thought to this. And it's my final decision. Ok, so that's that and here's the chapter, slightly revised.

* * *

**********   
**Maynard Hawk stood aboard the _Seabird_ proudly, watching the small group of sailors he had recruited bustling on and off the boat, loading barrels and sacks of food and ammunition. They would be off sooner than he had expected, he thought to himself, pleased. He caught sight of his son and young Bill emerging on deck and turned to them cheerfully. 

"Ah, so I see ye've found our new youngest member, Bill," he said, dropping a hand onto Jack's shoulder. "'Ope he wasn't too much trouble." Bill laughed and Jack smiled up at him. Maynard smiled back, somewhat awkwardly, then slid his hand off and turned away from them.

"Alright, men! All 'ands on deck!" he called and the chaos slowed as the haggard-looking men gathered before him. "Line up," he said, and they did so. "Let's see what we've got here..."

He went down the line and got the names of the twenty or so men, about half of which were part of his original crew, and assigned jobs to each of them. Bill was assigned to the helm, while Jack was disappointed to find himself storing food in the galley...

  
"This is ridiculous." He plopped a bag of vegetables onto the counter unceremoniously. "Really, I'd be much more useful up there, actually doing something worth doing." He cast a sideways glance at the other person in the room, a tall, menacing-looking man currently chopping up meat with a rather large knife, presumably for their dinner. "Not that you don' have an important job," he said hastily. "I've just had bad experiences with kitchens, savvy?"

The man merely grunted in reply, not bothering to look up.

"I just thought thin's would be more exciting from now on, an' instead I'm doing what I've always done." He paused thoughtfully, and chuckled to himself. "Although, you'd be surprised what sorts of strange things go on in a kitchen... Why, this one time—"

The knife thwacked against the cutting board, particularly loud, and Jack winced. "Do ye have to do it so hard, mate? I believe it's already dead."

The man turned his head very slowly and fixed him with a dark, steady glare. Jack raised his eyebrows, looking innocently confused and the man turned back to his work. Jack returned to his as well, remarking, "Don't talk much do you?"

No reply.

"Well, thas' alright. Gives you a nice, mysterious, intimidating sort of air, eh? Maybe I'll try that..." He fell silent for a few minutes, but being mysterious while doing kitchen tasks really wasn't as fun as the man made it look. "I forgot to ask!" he exclaimed suddenly. "What's yer name?" He cocked his head, as if listening to an answer, then nodded conversationally. "Ah... Jack Thompson. Course, it's not me real name 'cause Thompson is me mother's name so I just took it out of convenience, seein' as I don' know what me father's name was. For all I know, 'e could 'ave been a ruddy Spaniard... or a Frenchman."

The man muttered to himself and Jack hoisted himself up onto the counter. "What was that?" he asked.

He ignored him, instead snarling, "Get the bleedin' hell off the counter."

"Ah," said Jack, sliding off. He opened his mouth to speak but the man cut him off, shouting, "No! No_. _more_. talking!_ Go find somebody else to badger, ye damned bloody whelp!"

Jack suppressed a triumphant grin. "If that's what you want," he said meekly, pressing his hands together and giving a slight bow as he backed out the door. He made his way up onto the quarterdeck, where he spotted Bill at the helm. He sidled up next to him casually, surveying the goings on of the ship with a knowing air. He turned to Bill and gave an approving nod. "Keep up the good work, chum," he said.

Bill glanced down at the boy wryly, then raised his gaze to the horizon once more. "I thought you were s'posed to be in the galley, eh?"

"Ah, well," Jack said. "Reckon the old boy down there thought he could do better without me. Pity. I 'ave a fair amount of experience under my belt when it comes to preparin' food and such."

Bill's brow furrowed as he fixed on the first part of Jack's explanation. "By 'the old boy', ya' mean... Bloody Benson?"

"Oh, is that 'is name? Fitting, I suppose. 'E wouldn't tell me what it was. Don't talk much, him, I gather."

"No," said Bill firmly. "He's of the original _Seabird_ crew. Never really took much of a likin' to me, I think... But he keeps to 'imself mostly so if ya just stay out of 'is way, there's no problem. But I 'eard from Bones, once there was this bloke Errol McGee, who just grated his nerves, always doin' stupid things and acting idiotic... and one day it was just too much and Bloody Benson just turned and shot him, clear over the edge of the ship." Bill shook his head, smiling and adjusted his grip on the wheel. Then he turned his head to face Jack and smirked. "So, what was it ya' did to get yerself kicked out of the galley?"

Jack blinked. He stared at Bill for a long moment, and then his dark eyes narrowed. "Oh, now that's a lovely story, Billy, thanks for sharing it. I mean it." Bill laughed. "Who told it to ye, again? Bones, did ye say? You know, mate, I dunno' if I'd trust someone called Bones, meself. But then, that's just me."

Bill smiled. "John Bones is one of the wisest, most knowledgeable men I've ever encountered, Jack. He's seen more of the world than I probably ever will. Slipped out of the grasp of both the British Navy and the Spanish Armada several times. Ah, he's a legend, Jack. I'm surprised you 'aven't 'eard of him. That's him, over there," said Bill, pointing him out among the other pirates.

Jack observed the man carefully. He was very tall, and very thin. His face appeared gaunt and worn, and a long, thin scar stood out against his pale skin, from just above his left eyebrow to the hollow of his right cheek. The dark goatee was flecked with silver, while the tangled hair that grew from his head was entirely white, though he somehow did not appear old, and certainly not frail. His spidery hands held a rope quite firmly in their grasp as he heaved and pulled it back.

"Ah," said Jack. "An' 'oo's that man behind him there? Just slouchin' against the mast?"

Bill followed his gaze. "Oh, that there's Michael Finn. He mostly just drinks. Rather useless really," he explained. Then he added, almost to himself, "Though I do sometimes wonder why he's always so damn sad..."

Jack gave a disinterested look and continued studying the rest of the pirates. "An' that fellow singing?" continued Bill, "That's Benji. He's mad, I swear." He glanced at Jack. "You'd get along." Jack grinned. "And ah... Well, there's O'Malley, whom you met, and next to 'im is Moony. Mostly I steer clear of them. Then that lost-lookin' lad with the big blue eyes? That's Bastian. Nice boy, but really... I often wonder how in hell he ended up here..."

"You get along well, I assume," Jack interjected.

Bill smiled slightly and gave Jack a sideways glance. "Are you comparing me to him?" He looked away. "You don't know me that well yet, Jack. I can be ruthless. Really."

Jack just smiled. Bill sighed. "In any case... Then there's Danny, the one with the dark hair playin' the hornpipe... He told me once why he joined up with us. Said 'is father was a drunk and used to hit his mum until one day he hit her too much and she died. So Danny slit his da's throat. Then he went off to make a fortune for 'imself and became a pirate."

Jack's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. His hand rose to his neck uneasily as he imagined the scene. "That's interesting..." he murmured. "Lovely crowd."

Bill gave a sad half-smile and readjusted the helm a bit. "Aye," he said softly. Jack turned around to face the stern of the boat, letting the wind brush his hair back, out of his face. He watched as the waves created by the _Seabird_ left a swiftly-fading trail behind them, the last rays of the sun reaching after her, soon to be swallowed in the vast expanse of the ocean.

"So, where we headed, helmsman?" he asked, still facing abaft.

Bill threw a glance over his shoulder, then looked forward again. "Well, for now we're just headed East. We're going to take a vote in the morning. I'm hoping we'll head north for Maryport, England."

"Ah. Any significance in that choice?"

Silence followed for a few moments and Jack turned to face Bill again. Finally he answered quietly, "That's where Fiona lives... I spoke with the captain earlier. He said it was as good a place as any other to raid, and plenty of chances to intercept trade routes on the way."

"Splendid. I suppose I'll meet yer wife then, eh?"

Bill chuckled. "We'll see."

Jack was about to argue when a third person joined them. He was a lean, dirty man with long, scraggly hair and stubble covering his chin. He glared at the two of them for a moment, letting his gaze fall on Jack for a few extra seconds, before looking back at Bill and announcing, "Cap'n says yer turn's done."

"Oh," said Bill, stepping away from the helm and allowing the man to take ahold of it. "Thank you." The man rolled his eyes.

Bill and Jack left him and headed for their cabin. Only a few others were there already, among them Michael Finn, who was slumped over in the corner as if he hadn't quite been able to get onto his hammock. Bastian, the boy Bill had pointed out, sat up slightly as the two entered.

"'Ello, Bill."

Bill smiled in acknowledgement as he sat down. "This is Jack," he said, giving a nod in Jack's direction. Jack gave a quick smile and flopped onto the hammock beside Bill.

"So how's about those writing lessons we discussed, Billy.."

Bill groaned. "Not tonight, Jack."

Jack pouted for a minute, then rolled over onto his side. "Fine then. Just go ahead and read yer blasted letter to yerself. Again." Bill paused, his hand already half-way through the act of pulling out his dear letter. He sent Jack's back a glare, then shook his head and unfolded the paper.

Beside him, Jack's eyelids began to droop despite himself and he let out a loud yawn. So much had changed in this one day. He knew his life would never be the same, and he didn't mind. He was ready to greet the future with open arms, whatever it might hold; the uncertainty of it thrilled him. Then, for a brief moment, he thought of his mother and wondered what she was doing at that very moment. But when it occured to him that at that very moment she was most likely straddling some strange man, he made a face and rolled over once more. He was now presented with a view of William reading the letter from his wife. Jack smiled sleepily and slowly dozed off.


End file.
